House Rules
The absolute worst, however, is when she comes to find you still covered in their semen.
Face, chest, that smile completely intact, completely unbothered. She finds you wherever you are and asks, with genuine sweetness, if you could come help clean up. The sheets need washing. The bed is, in her words, "kind of a disaster."
She is not wrong about that.
You follow her down the hallway. You strip the sheets. And now it's all over yourself too. You do all of this while she sits on the edge of the bare mattress and tells you about him... how he was, what they did, a pretty accurate description of his cock. Friendly, warm, completely natural, the way she'd talk to a girlfriend about a date.
You are not her girlfriend.
You fold the last pillowcase and remind yourself, for the hundredth time, that she means absolutely nothing by it. That this is just Gabbie. That the alternative is losing the only person in this house who treats you like a friend... that is worse than anything she could say.
You tell yourself that. It almost works.